Slip!

“You’re an awful conversationalist,” Amaranthe said. “How is it possible I prefer spending time with you?”

“Most people don’t want to talk to assassins.”

“I’m a unique individual.”

“Yes,” he said, deadpan.

“I’m never quite sure if you’re complimenting me…or not.”

His eyes glinted as they passed a streetlamp. “Good.”
― Lindsay Buroker, Dark Currents

“Au revoir, mages.”
― A.S. Olsoune

“You’re mine, mo duinne,” he said softly, pressing himself into my depths. “Mine alone, now and forever. Mine, whether ye will it or no.” I pulled against his grip, and sucked in my breath with a faint “ah” as he pressed even deeper. “Aye, I mean to use ye hard, my Sassenach,” he whispered. “I want to own you, to possess you, body and soul.” I struggled slightly and he pressed me down, hammering me, a solid, inexorable pounding that reached my womb with each stroke. “I mean to make ye call me ‘Master,’ Sassenach.” His soft voice was a threat of revenge for the agonies of the last minutes. “I mean to make you mine.”
― Diana Gabaldon, Outlander

“It’s not my fault,” Maldynado said. Amaranthe joined them. “I didn’t say it was.” “No, but women like to blame things on me, so I figured I’d announce my innocence preemptively.” “What type of things?” Books asked. “Their unwanted pregnancies?” “Of course not. To bear my offspring would be an honor. They know that.”
― Lindsay Buroker, The Emperor's Edge